


He's Funny That Way

by Euterpein



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flirting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: Sam decides to check in on their wayward prophet.
Relationships: Kevin Tran/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 21





	He's Funny That Way

**Author's Note:**

> Okay listen, I found this fic when I was digging through the recesses of my Google Drive. It's probably the first or second fic I ever wrote, and it comes from a time when 1) I had no idea what tense consistency was apparently and 2) I knew what was going on in Supernatural. That second one hasn't been true for many years, so read at your own risk.

It’s been two weeks since the beginning of the Trials, and they’re sitting around the Men of Letters bunker looking for another job. The supernatural world’s quiet lately; they’ve been looking for a job for days. Sam keeps suggesting that they call Kevin to check in, but Dean brushes him off.

“If he has anything he’ll call, Sam. Bugging him won’t make him translate any faster.” Sam sighs. He knows Dean’s just trying to stall, putting off the next trial because it means danger for his brother. He gets that, he really does, but the waiting is killing him. He was also worried about Kevin; the last time they had visited, the poor guy hadn’t looked so great. Besides, he had a soft spot for the kid. Kevin was smart, dedicated and self-sacrificing, all of which made Sam respect and like him. He doesn’t tell Dean that, though.

They finally find a job, a possible vengeful witch in Montana, and not ten minutes later they get a phone call from Garth. Dean puts it on speaker.

“Have you two head from Kevin recently? I’ve been calling the boathouse all morning to check in but he ain’t picking up.” They respond that they haven’t heard from him, and Garth gives a thoughtful hum. “Well maybe you ought to go see him. I’m halfway across the country at the moment and I’m worried. Dude’s way too hard on himself.” Sam gave Dean a ‘ _ told you so _ ’ look across the table before answering:

“Yeah, we’ll go check in on him. Thanks, Garth.”

“No problem.” the other hunter responds. “Peace out!” Dean pouts a little, but doesn’t argue. He may not be in a hurry to throw Sammy back in the fire, but if Kevin’s in trouble he’s not just going to leave him to die. 

“What about the hunt?” the older Winchester said, looking down at the stack of newspapers on the table that had finally yielded results.

“We’ll deal with it once we check in on Kevin.” Sam replies. “It’s even on the way. We owe him, Dean.” 

They’re not sure whether to pack for a hunt for a hospital stay, so they bring a little of everything. Sam grabs a pile of books he’d been meaning to get to from the library and they both grab enough clothes for a couple weeks. They add some of the Men of Letters’ books to their regular rolling encyclopedia to do some research on the road. Once they’re all packed up, they set off. 

The boathouse is dead silent when they get there, no lights shining through the windows despite it being freshly dark. They’re on instant alert, guns in hand and exorcisms on the tips of their tongues as they pick the lock on the front door (no sign of forced break-in, but that doesn’t mean much in their line of business.) They proceed slowly and quietly as they look for any sign of the young prophet. Sam finds him face down on the kitchen floor and rushes over while Dean covers them, checking to make sure there’s no ambush waiting for them once they stop to help. 

“He’s alive, just unconscious.” Sam flips him over. “He’s breathing.” 

Dean looks around the kitchen, noticing the empty whisky bottles lying around. “Looks like Kevin’s gone all Chuck on us. There must be a dozen empties here.”

Sam sighs and nods. He hauls Kevin up and over his shoulder like a flour sack, carrying the smaller man to the bedroom and plopping him down. “Get me a glass of water from the kitchen, will you?” Dean’s obviously satisfied nothing’s going to pop out at them because he tucks his gun in his waistband and complies, flipping on lights as he passes. Sam hauls Kevin into a sitting position. He slaps him a couple times, carefully increasing the intensity until the boy stirs.

“Sam?” Kevin mumbles groggily, seemingly unable to focus on the man’s face. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Dean’s here too. Garth’s been calling you all day, man.” Dean returns with a glass of water and Sam carefully lifts it to Kevin’s lips, letting him take small sips. When he’d had his fill and seemed a little closer to consciousness, the boy speaks:

“I think I might have had a bit too much to drink last night.” Sam thinks of the state of the kitchen and scoffs.

“You think? What the hell were you doing, Kevin?”

“Deciphering that tablet hurts, man. Sometimes my head feels like it’s going to explode, so I self-medicate.” He lifts his chin challengingly, as if to dare Sam to fault him.

“I get that, but this can’t be the only way. You’ve got to take care of yourself. We’ve both been down that road before,” he waves his hand towards Dean, “and it doesn’t end well. You keep going like this there won’t be much of you left at the end of it.”

“That doesn’t matter, Sam. The tablet is my entire life. It’s what I’m good for. I just need to keep going long enough to translate it and then it won’t matter anymore.” Sam runs his hands through his hair, unsure what to say. He and Dean had been down this road too. In the end he decides there’s not much point in arguing with Kevin in this state and changes tactics. 

“ Keep drinking that water and get some actual sleep. I’m going to find you something to eat that’s not hot dogs.” He and Dean retreat to the kitchen. 

“Well that’s a familiar tune.” Dean points out. “Kid’s not going to make it out the other end of this thing if he keeps treating himself like that.”

“Especially not if he doesn’t care about making it out.” He opens up the fridge and promptly closes it again, not feeling he has the constitution to deal with mold floating in jars at the moment. “We’re going to need food. You up for making a run?” Dean nods. “Get enough for a few days, if not more. We might as well stock him up. And, Dean?” His brother pauses in the act of rooting for his keys, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Vegetables.”

Sam grabs his duffel out of the car before watching the Impala rumble off into the night, plopping the bag down on the couch when he’s back in the house. He fills another glass of water and makes his way quietly to the bedroom. Kevin’s asleep exactly where he had been left, propped uncomfortably in a sitting position. Sam sets the water down on the bedside table, goes to grab his book on the magic of the Roman vestal virgins, and settles in a chair in the corner of the room. Every few minutes his eyes flick to the boy on the bed, watching the peaceful rise and fall of his chest.

Kevin sleeps until the next morning. Once Dean returns with enough groceries to feed a small army the hunters each take turns on the couch, at least able to catch a couple hours of sleep a piece. Sam makes scrambled eggs with sauteed onions, garlic, spinach, and mushrooms for breakfast. Dean teases him a bit about rabbit food, but the grateful look on Kevin’s face at the prospect of an actual meal is enough. They call Garth to update him on the situation and then try to decide what to do next.

“Guys, I can take care of myself. Thanks for the help and the groceries and all, but I need to get back to translating.” He tries to get up from the table but is stopped by Sam grabbing at his wrist.

“Kevin, you’re not okay. I get that you need to work on the tablet, but you’re obviously not taking care of yourself. Your head won’t hurt so much that you drink yourself into a coma if you improve your quality of life a little.”

“I told you Sam, it doesn’t matter--”

“Bullshit! Maybe you’re a prophet, but you’re still human. Once we shut the gates of Hell you’ll be able to go on with your life, but only if you don’t completely wreck yourself first.” It was Kevin’s turn to not know what to say. 

“I can handle that newbie witch on my own.” Dean offered. “Should give you a couple days to help Mr. Liquor Store here back to his feet.” Kevin rolls his eyes, but Sam’s withering look stops him from arguing. 

“Yeah Dean, thanks. Call me if you need any backup research. Say ‘Hi’ to Cas for me.” He smirks as Dean whirls around, the exact look of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar etched on his face. When he realizes Sam is laughing at him, his face scrunches in rather half-hearted anger.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Dean takes off not too long after that, leaving Sam and Kevin alone. After a few minutes of awkwardly shuffling his feet, the prophet heads off to start translating the tablet. Sam insists on playing music through his laptop rather than letting Kevin use the headphones that had almost definitely been contributing to his headaches. 

He decides that the best way to help Kevin right now is to try to make the boathouse habitable. He starts to work in the kitchen, cleaning out all the empty bottles and throwing everything that had once been in the refrigerator straight in the trash so as not to risk unleashing biological warfare upon the world. He washes every dish, even the so-called ‘clean’ ones that had obviously barely been rinsed. He makes a light lunch of cod in lemon butter sauce and steamed green beans (Dean isn’t the only one who’d been enjoying having a real kitchen). Rather than uproot Kevin from his little nest of translation-inscribed papers, Sam just turns off the music and puts the food down in front of the smaller man. At least it got him to take a break while he was eating.

After lunch, Sam decides to get started on a nice dinner. He puts together all the makings of an apple pie and tomato-rice soup, two of the only actual recipes he knows by heart. He’d seen some books tucked away in the corner of the living room that probably included some cookbooks, but they were blocked by a maze of furniture and luggage that had been pushed against a wall for lack of anywhere else to put them. He resolves to make that his next project, or at least to get it done before his (very limited) repertoire of things to cook runs out. 

While the rice cooks and the pie crust chills in the refrigerator, he finishes up the kitchen. He wipes the thick layer of dust from all the cabinets he had emptied while washing the dishes, giving them an actual system of organization. It’s weird, cleaning. When they had still been living in hotel rooms as kids and he’d been stressed out he’d picked up the habit of obsessively tidying their room, but that and his brief stints living a normal life were about the extent of housework he’d ever done. It’s a bit zen, the combination of the repetitive tasks and the beat of the music taking him to a very nice meditative place.

Sam finds his molasses-slow thoughts drifting inexorably to the young man a few rooms away. He remembers when he had first met Kevin; the boy had been uptight and fearful but full of hope and ambition as well. To see him now, all world-weariness and crushed hopes, was like watching himself from years ago turn into who he was now. It was horrible to see that happen to Kevin, but some selfish part of Sam thought it was rather nice to have someone who understood. Someone who had faced a similar fork in the road and made the same decision. It also gave him hope. He didn’t know if Dean’s encouragement was enough to dig him out of that hole, but maybe he and Kevin could do it together.

He finishes scrubbing the kitchen down and finishes the preparation for the soup. While it’s heating all the way up he rolls out the pie crust and adds the apple mixture, popping it in the oven to bake right as the soup is ready to eat. He calls to Kevin from across the house announcing that dinner is imminent.

“Holy crap Sam, it looks amazing in here! And that smells awesome.”

“Thanks.” Sam grins at the look of wonder on Kevin’s face. “Now sit down and eat.” Kevin nods, but instead of sitting immediately he goes over to what had once been the liquor cabinet. It now contained the overly fancy floral tea set Sam assumed had belonged to whichever relative of Garth’s had lived here before. Even after everything he had experienced and seen, Sam couldn’t help but find the look of gobsmacked surprise that graced the prophet’s face at the discovery hilariously adorable. He pulled himself together. “The liquor’s all gone. I know your head hurts, but you’ll just have to deal with drinking lots of water today. I don’t even want to give you Tylenol after the beating your liver took yesterday.” Kevin sighs, but can’t really bring himself to be angry. 

That dinner is one of the best either can remember having in a long time. The soup is delicious, and just as they’ve finished licking their bowls of seconds Sam pulls a fresh apple pie out of the oven. It’s mind-meltingly good. They’re both too full to move after finishing their pieces, so Kevin starts asking questions. 

Dean had given him the basic low-down on the situation immediately preceding his involvement, but he had never gotten the full story. He asks about their childhood, about college (Sam’s face when he talks about Jess is enough to make his heart constrict painfully), about their father. Sam tells him everything and more. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone about this stuff. Amelia hadn’t known who he really was and he wasn’t really close to anyone else except Dean, who knew it all anyway. Kevin seems genuinely interested in the finer points of Sam’s life. He asked questions about Sam’s favorite music, his fears, why he kept his hair as long as he did.

Once Kevin had learned pretty much everything there was to know about Sam, the older man started asking similar questions. There honestly wasn’t much to tell. Kevin spoke of his father, his lost ambitions, his murdered girlfriend. He muses on how disconnected he feels from all that now: it’s like having someone else’s childhood memories. 

This brings the conversation down a bit, but that doesn’t last too long. Sam tells him the story of the cursed rabbit foot and he laughs himself to tears. In turn, he tells him how he’d accidentally set the stove on fire once while trying to make his mother a birthday cake, nearly burning down the entire kitchen and thoroughly burning the cake. Sam’s laugh was huge and booming. Kevin found himself just smiling stupidly at the other man at the sound of it. When Sam had caught his breath but was still chuckling, he caught the profit’s look.

“What? Do I have some pie on my shirt or something?”

“No, no, I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before. You should do it more often.” 

They continue like this for a while longer, swapping stories until the conversation eventually gives way to a comfortable silence filled with yawns and drooping eyelids. Kevin checks his watch and is startled to find it’s nearly eleven-thirty at night.

“Jesus, it’s almost midnight! I’d better get back to work.” He moves to get up from his chair, but Sam interrupts.

“No, you’d better get to bed. The more sleep you get, the better your head will feel in the morning.”

Part of Kevin wanted to argue or just go work anyway. Then he thought about how much more efficient he’d been at translating today; his headache had been present but manageable, and having actual food in his stomach had meant he’d had energy to spend. He relented.

“Fine. But I’ve got to really focus on it tomorrow.”

“Deal! Now go to bed.” Sam rises, collecting their now-encrusted pie plates and placing them in the sink. A thought occurs to Kevin.

“Where are you sleeping?”

Sam gives a noncommittal shrug. “On the couch. Why?” Kevin eyeballed the couch in question. The thing was comfortable enough he supposed, but it was barely long enough to fit three people sitting normally. It would never be comfortable for a man as large as Sam to sleep on. 

“You are not sleeping there because of me. You take the bed and I’ll take the couch. At least I’ll fit on it.” Sam scowls.

“I’m here to make sure you’re taken care of. You losing sleep because you gave your bed up for me isn’t exactly doing my job. I’m not letting you sleep there.” Kevin rolls his eyes, getting the impression this is not an argument he’s going to win.

“God, you’re stubborn. Fine. The bed’s a king, there’s plenty of room for both of us. We’re both sleeping there and that’s the end of it.” Sam gapes a bit at the commanding tone. After a moment he seems to gather himself again, drawing a breath in an obvious attempt to argue, but Kevin raises a hand. “No! You’re helping me out here. The least I can do is make sure you have a decent place to stay. You won’t disturb my beauty sleep, I promise.” This finally seems to get through to Sam. The larger man grins and raises his hands in surrender.

“Alright, fine, I give. I’ll be in there in a minute.” He headed off to the living room, probably to put his pajamas on. Kevin heads into the bathroom, quickly changing into some clean-ish sleep clothes and trying to get rid of some of the dirty laundry mixed with the blankets on his bed. When he was satisfied it was at least usable, he climbed in. Sam arrived a few minutes later and joined him in the bed, reaching over to turn the lamp on the side table off. They exchange sleepy “good nights” and Kevin drifts to sleep to the sound of Sam’s deep, even breathing.

He wakes up to an empty bed. Once he has gone to the bathroom he stumbles into the kitchen, eyes falling onto the truly glorious sight of Sam cooking a huge breakfast. A cup of coffee is pushed into his hands as he stands there basking in the delicious smells, the amused smile on Sam’s face enough to make him turn red and sit down with his coffee at the table. 

Sam continues smiling as he turns around to finish up the sausage patties. Kevin is obviously not a morning person, and his drooping eyes and far-away looks are downright endearing. Sam piles up a plate with sausage, fresh homemade biscuits (he had nearly broken his leg while climbing across the precarious pile of furniture to get to the cookbooks), a fried egg, and some fresh sliced fruit. He places it in front of Kevin, the boy looking at it like he wasn’t sure whether to eat it or kiss it. He fills his own plate and sits down, the room filled with amiable silence as they both enjoy their food and coffee.

Eventually, Kevin sits back with a contented sigh. “That was possibly the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted. Thank you so much.” Sam smiles again. He seems to be doing that a lot, recently.

“No problem, man. It’s probably not the healthiest breakfast, but it’ll keep you going. Speaking of, I was hoping to take a run after breakfast this morning. Care to join me? It’ll be good for you.”

Kevin looks longingly out of the small window above the kitchen sink. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been out in the fresh air. He had once gone running every day before school, and he could remember how much it had focused his mind. Maybe it would help him work on translating the tablet later. “Yeah, that sounds good. I think I’ve got some tennis shoes around here somewhere. Give me a minute to find them and I’ll be good to go.”

“Great! I’ll get dressed.” It took a bit of digging, but Kevin eventually found some running shoes in the bedroom closet that fit well enough. He threw on some shorts and a t-shirt before heading out to meet Sam.

The two of them set out at a leisurely pace, starting on the road that skirted the lake before turning off into a neighborhood, preferring the tree-lined drives and garden beds to the stench of fishy water warmed by the summer sun. It was hot that day and they both had to get rid of their shirts before too long. Kevin felt fantastic; getting fresh air and exercise felt like a revelation, and watching the ripple of Sam’s muscles under tanned skin wasn’t exactly detracting from his morning. 

They had gone about two miles when they turned around. Kevin couldn’t keep running the whole way, needing to stop and walk for portions of time while he caught his breath. He must have lost a lot of his stamina over the last few months. During one of these walking spells, they pass a woman pushing a pram in front of her. The baby inside decides it doesn’t like the look of Sam and chucks its small plastic elephant at him, hitting the man’s shin as it clatters to the sidewalk. Sam chuckles and stoops to retrieve it, handing it to the mother rather than brave the anti-Sam child who had thrown the thing. 

“Oh, thank you! She loves to throw things at people, we can’t seem to keep her from doing it. Her eyes are wandering unsubtly over Sam’s torso and she’s smiling, making Kevin’s back stiffen defensively. Her gaze falls to him after a moment though, lingering on the anti-possession tattoo on his arm. Her smile widens even more and takes on warmth rather than heat. “Oh, your matching tattoos are just precious! Do you two live around here?” They both blink at her open-mouthed for a minute, acutely aware of her assumption and unsure of how or if to correct her. 

Sam recovers first. “Uh, yeah. We live down on the lake.”

“Oh, there are some lovely houses down there! We almost bought one when I was pregnant with Matilda here, but we decided they were a bit too small for raising a family. You should consider that if you ever decide to adopt.” Her phone rings and she gives them an apologetic look. “That’s probably my wife. Have a good day, you two!” She picks up the phone and continues on her way, both Sam and Kevin staring after her. They catch each others’ eyes and look away quickly, both turning red. Unsure of what to say, they keep running their way back to the boat house. 

The conversation changed things between them. Kevin took the first shower once they were back and then slips away to work on translating the tablet, but finds that he can’t concentrate very well. After only about two hours of trying and failing, he gives up and makes his way out to find Sam. He finds the older man sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and staring blankly at the wall. Sam jumps as Kevin enters the room, breathing out and giving a brief, embarrassed flash of a smile. “I was cleaning up the living room, but I kept drifting off.”

“I know how you feel.” Kevin sits down on the other side of the table. They’re both sitting awkwardly now, Sam resuming his blank inspection of the wall while Kevin looks at his hands. He sighs, feeling like some kind of immature elementary school kid again. “Look, about what happened this morning.” That gets Sam’s attention. “The way I see it, we have two options. We do something about it, or we forget it ever happened and move on. Obviously neither of us is going to get anything done while we’re just sitting here stewing.” To his surprise, Sam smiles.

“That’s so...logical. Which one would you choose?” Kevin inspects the older man’s face but finds no hints. Sam’s poker face is way too good.

“I say we do something about it. You?”

Another smile, slightly predatory this time. “Same.”

\-------------------

The next morning, they pass that same woman with the baby walking with another woman by her side. When they’re enthusiastically introduced as ‘That cute couple I was telling you about with the matching tattoos,’ they catch each other's' eyes and smile.


End file.
